I Am Not Resigned
by JMS6
Summary: 'And I'll always believe in him. Forever.' John Watson is not resigned. He's not grieving. He will never stop believing in Sherlock Holmes.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

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><p><span>John<span>

_**"No, stay exactly where you are, don't move!"**_

_**"Alright..."**_

_**"Keep your eyes fixed on me, please; can you do this for me?"**_

_**"Do what?"**_

_**"This phone call...it's my note. That's what people do, don't they? Leave a note."**_

_**"Leave a note when?"**_

_**"Good bye John."**_

_**"No. No, don't... no, SHERLOCK!"**_

And then there was nothing.

_**"Sherlock..."**_

He fell, and everything stopped.

_I am not resigned to the shutting away of loving hearts in the hard ground._

_So it is, and so it will be, for so it has been, time out of mind:_

No, he didn't fall...he jumped...into oblivion. He lied, I'm not sure why. I don't really care anymore. About anything. I don't believe it, I can't believe that he was a fake.

I can't.

I won't.

_Into the darkness they go, the wise and the lovely. Crowned_

_With lilies and with laurel they go; but I am not resigned._

Why did it have to be him? Why...

Reporters, journalists keep coming to the flat, trying to talk to me about him. They shout questions from the street below, but I don't think they understand.

I'm **already** dead.

And he's gone. Gone forever. Gone where I can't follow.

_A fragment of what you felt, of what you knew,_

_A formula, a phrase remains, - but the best is lost._

Not that I don't want to. They would stop me. Mrs Hudson, Lestrade, maybe Mycroft.

I can't think the name of the British government without pain. Thinking of him makes me think of his brother, and that HURTS.

I tried once. I had pills from...somewhere. Unfortunately, Mycroft keeps a rather close watch on me now. He feels guilty.

Not nearly guilty enough.

_The answers quick & keen, the honest look, the laughter, the love,_

_They are gone. They have gone to feed the roses. Elegant and curled_

_Is the blossom. Fragrant is the blossom. I know. But I do not approve._

_More precious was the light in your eyes than all the roses in the world._

I miss him. He saved me in more ways than he ever knew, and now he's gone. The Yarders came to visit. Lestrade, Donovan, even ANDERSON came. I think they were shocked to see the state I'm currently in. Guilty, I think, of the part they played in his death. They might even be beginning to doubt their actions. I don't care. I haven't done for some time, I don't know how long.

Now a minute can last a second and a second can stretch on into infinity.

I punched Anderson. He mentioned **His** name. No one blamed me.

_Down, down, down into the darkness of the grave_

_Gently they go, the beautiful, the tender, the kind;_

_Quietly they go, the intelligent, the witty, the brave._

And the way in which he left...

He died so easily. Too easily. I would have expected him to hold on, clinging to life with the same pig-headed idiocy that he conducted the rest of his life.

_I know._

They wouldn't let me see the body. Mycroft said it had been cremated soon after death, no one wanted to dissect it.

_But I do not approve._

For the first week after he left I was angry. I left Baker street, got a room at a B&B and I released my fury where I couldn't hurt anyone. Fury at him, at me, at Moriarty, at the wholeworld which was in the end just as stupid and idiotic and **BORING** as he said it was.

_And I am not resigned._

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><p>AN: Hey people. This is the one named after a hat. Enjoy!

- A/N 0.2: Okay, I'm not the person who wrote this, but I'm the owner of this account. Just to clarify, the-one-named-after-a-hat is _not me_. K? K.


	2. Chapter 2

AN: I own nothing, and all that stuff...if I did we wouldn't have to wait a whole YEAR between series...this was written by The One Named After A Hat.

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><p><strong>Sherlock<strong>

**"Ermm...you, you told me once that you weren't a hero. Erm, there were times when I didn't even think that you were human but...let me tell you this, you were, the best man...err, the most human, human being that I've ever known and no one will ever convince me, that you told a lie. So...there. I was, so alone, and I owe you so much. Okay. Actually there's just one more thing, one more thing. One more miracle, Sherlock, for me, just don't. Be...dead. Just stop it, stop this."**

My John.

_So lately, been wondering _

_Who will be there to take my place_

I could never manage to get the hang of normal social interactions. Intelligence, yes. Observation, definitely. Just don't ask me to be nice. I can't do nice.

So when the five year old me found a psychological text book in my brothers bedroom (Looking for blackmail material) and found the description of a sociopath...

How I envied those people, who walked through life not caring how others thought of them, serving only themselves.

Soon after that, I adopted the title for myself. It was so much simpler to let people think I didn't have feelings then to show how truly out of my depth I am around them.

_When I'm gone, you'll need love _

_To light the shadows on your face_

Imagine how much I regretted all that time spent pouring over crime scenes instead of human emotion when I finally found the one person I didn't want to hide from. I had always wanted to push people away, then John Watson came into my life like a stone through a pane of glass. He fractured my sociopathic barrier, letting all those painful things I had been blocking seep through in his wake. Had he been anyone else, I would have hated him.

But he wasn't anyone else.

_If a great wave shall fall _

_It would fall upon us all _

_And between the sand and stone _

_Could you make it on your own? _

He made me feel. He was deceptively ordinary, my blogger. Everything about him screamed, "Nothing to see here!" Or rather, it mumbled quietly, as he hardly ever screamed.

Until he shot a man through a window in another building and then laughed about it.

Until he called me, the smartest man in any room I can think of (including this one) an idiot.

Until he was prepared to die for me. I never understood that.

_If I could, then I would _

_I'll go wherever you will go _

_Way up high or down low _

_I'll go wherever you will go_

He was strong. I had never seen him cry, never seen him loose control, not properly.

Until now.

He was crying at my grave, a slab of black marble, elegantly engraved in gold with my name. Pretentious, pompous and unnecessary, it was exactly the sort of thing I had expected Mycroft to pick out.

_And maybe I'll work out _

_A way to make it back some day _

_To watch you, to guide you _

_Through the darkest of your ways _

_If a great wave shall fall _

_It would fall upon us all _

_Well I hope there's someone out there _

_Who can bring me back to you. _

I never told him how I felt. Not even in my 'Note.'

_Run away with my heart_

Moriarty knew. At the pool, he swore to burn the heart out of me. It took all of my strength not to look at John. He was my heart. He is my heart.

_Run away with my hope_

I always said that I do not care about people. John Watson wasn't 'people.'

_Run away with my love_


End file.
